“The Last Man Standing”

He is standing there . . . still like a well-crafted statue.

Loyal to his assignment, never moving.

A faithful witness, dependable and true.

A reliable timekeeper, he is never late.

The rains never faze him. The winds never shake him.

His face as pale as white ash glimmers through the darkness of the night.

His stark features make him stand out from others of his kind.

Clad in classic all-black attire that carefully wraps around him like a meticulously woven cloak.

His countenance slightly changes with each passing night but his exuding beauty still humbles me every time.

I marvel at his presence, I stare just for a little while longer before I walk away.

He basks in the attention of his audience.
Young and old, they are all captivated by his spectacular image.

Cool, calm, and quiet.

Composed even in the face of the dangers of the night.

He rests his eyes on me, and I feel safe under his protective gaze.

His bright silvery eyes reassure me.

He stretches out his hand to help me find my way home.


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